Pillars of Weeping Lambs.
Pillars of Weeping Lambs
It was February the second and Omar’s first day of Pre-school.His mother a kind and wholesome woman smiled as she helped him from the reliable family station wagon, her large hips blocking out the sun for a moment as she lent in. She began to comb his dark hair into a slick. Omar with a disgruntled expression complied as best he could to his mothers wishes, sitting still despite the other children’s hurtful giggles. “Very respectable Omar”, “like your father” his mother stuttered with her thick accent “very respectable”.
He could feel his mother tense and she led him toward the wire gauze gates for the first time, across the concrete car park warming in the morning sun, and the other children, now sobbing salty tears. Leaving trails like snails down their flushed faces. “Eyes like the rain” she says to Omar glancing around “eyes like the rain” she repeats to herself in a nostalgic tone. Suddenly Omar felt his mother’s hand tighten around his own and her hips reposition themselves between himself and others in the busy parking lot. His mother fastened the pace of her walk.
Although Omar sensed his mothers sudden unsettled condition, he could not for all the reasons known in the world to a four year old child understand why. Bending his eyes around her he could see nothing but the motley crew of other children’s mixed emotions, and their parent’s attempts to restrain their own. Scanning faces in the crowd Omar stared with a sudden curiosity, at a man leaning against the bonnet of his car in a dark corner of the parking lot where the sun had not yet reached; followed by a sudden hallowing frailty as the man’s eyes met his own.
Omar had never seen eyes like this before. They were cold eyes, cruel eyes.
The man’s head was shaved and fittingly to this image he wore a navy blue singlet; “wife beaters” Omar had heard his father refer to these shirts. He could see the muscles contract in his arm as the man shifted his weight over the confederate flag painted on the bonnet of his van, drawing Omar’s eyes to a large tattoo on the cruel man’s shoulder. An eagle with an insignia foreign to his understanding and dark in the shadows, framed such a personality unfittingly. Omar contemplated, thinking such a man seemed as more of the skull and crossbones type.
The cruel man had a son of his own, who stood behind him making vigorous use of a coloring book to swipe at flies high in the air. His blonde hair hung limply down to his shoulders and over his face, and from behind it Omar could see two radiantly blue eyes, similar to those of the children in the toy commercials and like Omar had compared to his own common and brown on several occasions. The pre school teachers appeared behind the grey gauze gate and welcomed Omar’s mother and the others into the play ground, with visible effort maintaining their smiling facades, distraught for the end of their holidays. The cruel man and his son made little effort to approach until most had migrated to the greener pastures of the playground, his son dragging his bag across the vans bonnet and its artwork much too short to lift the heavy sack from so high up.
Omar’s mother sat him down in a seat next to herself and the other parents, all of whom had huddled together on the left hand side of the class room listening to the teacher’s apathetic orientation. The cruel man and his son stood to the right, with several feet of twilight between themselves and the others.
UNFINISHED
..I Don't know when I'll have the time to finish this...
He could feel his mother tense and she led him toward the wire gauze gates for the first time, across the concrete car park warming in the morning sun, and the other children, now sobbing salty tears. Leaving trails like snails down their flushed faces. “Eyes like the rain” she says to Omar glancing around “eyes like the rain” she repeats to herself in a nostalgic tone. Suddenly Omar felt his mother’s hand tighten around his own and her hips reposition themselves between himself and others in the busy parking lot. His mother fastened the pace of her walk.
Although Omar sensed his mothers sudden unsettled condition, he could not for all the reasons known in the world to a four year old child understand why. Bending his eyes around her he could see nothing but the motley crew of other children’s mixed emotions, and their parent’s attempts to restrain their own. Scanning faces in the crowd Omar stared with a sudden curiosity, at a man leaning against the bonnet of his car in a dark corner of the parking lot where the sun had not yet reached; followed by a sudden hallowing frailty as the man’s eyes met his own.
Omar had never seen eyes like this before. They were cold eyes, cruel eyes.
The man’s head was shaved and fittingly to this image he wore a navy blue singlet; “wife beaters” Omar had heard his father refer to these shirts. He could see the muscles contract in his arm as the man shifted his weight over the confederate flag painted on the bonnet of his van, drawing Omar’s eyes to a large tattoo on the cruel man’s shoulder. An eagle with an insignia foreign to his understanding and dark in the shadows, framed such a personality unfittingly. Omar contemplated, thinking such a man seemed as more of the skull and crossbones type.
The cruel man had a son of his own, who stood behind him making vigorous use of a coloring book to swipe at flies high in the air. His blonde hair hung limply down to his shoulders and over his face, and from behind it Omar could see two radiantly blue eyes, similar to those of the children in the toy commercials and like Omar had compared to his own common and brown on several occasions. The pre school teachers appeared behind the grey gauze gate and welcomed Omar’s mother and the others into the play ground, with visible effort maintaining their smiling facades, distraught for the end of their holidays. The cruel man and his son made little effort to approach until most had migrated to the greener pastures of the playground, his son dragging his bag across the vans bonnet and its artwork much too short to lift the heavy sack from so high up.
Omar’s mother sat him down in a seat next to herself and the other parents, all of whom had huddled together on the left hand side of the class room listening to the teacher’s apathetic orientation. The cruel man and his son stood to the right, with several feet of twilight between themselves and the others.
UNFINISHED
..I Don't know when I'll have the time to finish this...